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I can have people come take care of it, but I wasn’t sure if—”

“No! I’ll do it,” I say quickly. After watching Detective Dunagan and his officers ransack her little apartment, the thought of anyone else touching her stuff makes me feel sick.

“I thought that might be the case.” He nods. “I’ll have boxes delivered tomorrow morning, so you can get started as soon as you’re ready.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

I hate this. I hate it so much. Thinking about packing up my mom’s stuff feels like admitting she’s not coming back. But I’m glad he’s not having someone else do it. I’m glad I won’t just wake up one morning and see a stranger coming out of my mom’s old apartment without having had a chance to prepare for it.

My heart feels like a rock in my chest, but I know that, just as Lincoln did the night Mom was arrested, Mr. Black is offering me the best possible choice out of a plethora of shitty options.

He purses his lips, looking like he wants to say something else, but I don’t know what on earth he would say—and apparently, neither does he, because he just turns and heads for his desk, unlocking it before opening the top drawer and grabbing out a stack of papers and two manilla envelopes.

“Well, I’ve got to go.” He taps the edges of the papers and folders on the desk to align them in a neat stack, glancing over at me quickly. “I have a meeting this afternoon. Work never stops, not even on the weekends. But thank you for speaking to me, Harlow. And please, if you need anything, let me know.”

“I will. Thanks.”

He nods, then strides to the door, holding it open for me before exiting the room himself. I watch him walk away and disappear around the corner, but I stay where I am for a moment, gripping the door frame like I need the support to remain standing.

Hell, maybe I do.

The house is quiet. I’m sure Lincoln is upstairs, probably waiting for me, waiting to make sure everything’s okay.

I don’t know where Audrey is. She tends to disappear into the master bedroom for long periods of time, and whenever I see her in the rest of the house, she reminds me of a ghost roaming a haunted mansion. I’m never quite sure where she’s going or where she’s coming from.

I take a step into the hall, about to head toward the stairs—but then I hesitate.

Mr. Black grabbed two manilla envelopes from the drawer. Was one of them the paternity test I saw when I snooped in his desk all those weeks ago? He didn’t lock the drawer back up this time. At least, I don’t think he did. So there’s an easy way to answer that question.

I glance both ways down the hall, making sure no one is coming, then duck back into Mr. Black’s study. I don’t dawdle, making a beeline for the desk and pulling on the drawer. It slides open easily, since I was right—the lock hasn’t been engaged at all.

There are a few papers scattered across the bottom of the drawer, some pens and paperclips, but no manilla envelopes.

It’s gone.

Whether it was in one of the envelopes he just took with him, I don’t know, but it’s definitely not in here anymore.

I’m tugging the drawer open a little farther, bending down to peer into the back corners, when a soft sound outside makes my head snap up. My heart rattles in my chest as I shove the drawer closed again, arresting the sharp movement at the last second so it doesn’t make a noise.

As soon as it’s shut, I bolt for the door, and I’m just stepping out of the study when Audrey walks up. She’s wearing loose, flowing house pants and a simple but luxurious green top. Her chestnut brown hair is piled on her head in a messy updo that still manages to look elegant.

She blinks at me slowly, stopping in her tracks. “Where’s Samuel?”

“Oh, um, he had to step out. He had a meeting, he said. Work.” I’m clinging to the door frame again, and I force myself to release my grip on it so I can step past her.

She turns to watch me as I do, a look of mild curiosity and maybe a little suspicion on her face. “What were you doing in his study? Were you cleaning?”

“No.” My mouth feels dry, and it makes swallowing difficult. “I was just meeting with Mr. Black for a second. That’s what he wanted to talk to me about, actually. About how you guys will be hiring someone else for now, since my mom…”

I don’t finish that sentence, and she doesn’t seem to care that much. She glances back toward the study door. “Oh. I see. How is your mother?”

Yeah, she definitely doesn’t care about that. I don’t think she has anything against my mom, or against me, but Samuel has been the one who’s more invested in helping us through this. Audrey just seems… politely concerned.

“She’s fine. Thanks. Trying to keep her spirits up, you know.”

I take a tentative step away, hesitating to see if she’ll stop me with any other questions. When she doesn’t, I give her a polite nod and smile before turning and hustling down the hallway.

Stepping into the grand foyer, I head straight for the stairs, eager to get back to the safety of my room.

Jesus. That was weird.

I’ve been so removed, so distracted by my mom’s arrest and the search for clues about Iris’s killer, that I forgot for a little while how utterly bizarre this fucking household is.

9

I spend the day on Sunday packing up my mom’s stuff into boxes, which I stack neatly against the wall in my room. Lincoln offers to help me, but I turn him down. It feels… private, in a way.

It’s not that I don’t want him to see her stuff. It’s more that I want to spend time with it by myself, to

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